


Touch

by queenhomeslice



Series: Hopeless [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Body Worship, Chubby Reader, Consensual Touching, Curvy Reader, Established Relationship, F/M, Partial Nudity, fat reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22365679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: You're having a bad body day. Prompto decides to help.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Reader
Series: Hopeless [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607842
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way.

It really does kind of suck that Prompto’s parents are gone a lot. Like, a _lot_ a lot. But the other advantage is that he has the whole house to himself most of the time, and you and Noctis are always too willing to be his company. You’re freer than Noctis is, so most of the time it’s just you and Prompto hanging out, watching a movie, or playing games (or, mostly, you watching Prompto play games), or eating whatever you find in his kitchen—he always marvels how you can take simple ingredients and make a hot meal with just enough servings for two people. It was fun in elementary and middle school, and downright intoxicating once high school came and Prompto became nerdy eye candy—but now that the two of you are dating, it’s a crazy temptation to be alone with him. Your parents are lenient, but still expect there to be boundaries between you and Prompto , even though they’ve known him for seven years now. _No babies_ is their mantra, and honestly, it’s something you can get behind. Not that you don’t want Prompto’s children, because holy shit _yes_ , but...maybe later. You and Prompto still haven’t gone all the way, but you still go further than your parents would probably like—but who’s gonna tell? 

You and Prompto are in his room, seated on his full-size bed, him in nothing but a sinful pair of red boxer briefs and you in nothing but a black bra and soft cotton black underwear. Cross-legged, knees touching, red-faced and shy—but Prompto looks at you like you’re the most precious of jewels, and it’s overwhelming. 

“You sure you’re not disgusted?” you mutter quietly, nervously meeting his gaze. You’re hyper-aware of your large, fat tummy and all of its rolls; your thick thighs marred with stretch marks and cellulite, your bare upper arms and all their flabby glory. You’d been having a particularly bad body day, and Prompto was all too eager to strip you down and tell you what he really thought about you. 

“How could I ever be disgusted by you?” Prompto breathes reverently. He reaches out to cup your round face in his slender fingers and your eyes flutter closed as you lean into his touch. “You’re so beautiful.” He clears his throat, then breathes, “Permission to touch?” 

You swallow nervously and nod. Prompto’s fingers trail down your cheek, lightly brushing over your neck. You feel him ghost over your collarbones—now he’s adding two hands, making sure to touch you on both sides of your body, equally. He rubs up and down your arms, over the patches of red bumps and random hair, squeezing firmly. 

“I love your arms,” Prompto says fondly. 

“They’re all jiggly,” you sigh, eyes still closed. 

“Yeah, and? Jello is jiggly, man, and I fuckin’ love jello.” 

You snort in laughter, but it quickly turns to a breathless moan as Prompto runs his hands back up to your collarbones and starts to drag them down to your ample chest. 

“This okay?” he asks in a shaky voice. 

You nod. “If you’re okay?” You dare to finally open your eyes and peek at him. 

Prompto’s flushed pink from his navel to his ears, and goddamn if you don’t want to devour him whole right there. He watches his fingers drag lower, as if they aren’t really his and he’s astral projecting, watching someone else touch you so intimately. His fingers dance along the edges of your bra, touching the little bit of fatty skin that the material doesn’t cover--and then his palms are flat against your breasts. 

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Oh, holy shit,” he whispers. 

You try not to laugh at him. “Y’know, it’s not really these that bother me. I like them all right.” 

“Me too,” squeaks Prompto. He gives them a squeeze and then bites his lip—and then mustering all the self-control in the world, he drags his hands lower to squeeze at your fat tummy. “But this bothers you, huh?” 

You nod and close your eyes again, but Prompto’s hands are warm and his touches are light and wandering. He doesn’t have anywhere else to be other than right here, with you, worshipping your body in a sort of innocent reverence, but poised beneath the surface is the final step beyond making out and heavy petting. You know that Prompto will wait for you, and it’s not like you haven’t masturbated to the thought of him ever since you’d figured out what that even was, pretending your own fingers were his—but there’s no rush, not really. 

“Doesn’t bother me,” says Prompto; and you hear shifting and before you realize what’s happening, Prompto is crouched low, pressing a kiss to your exposed stomach. “Hey--lie down?” His voice is all thick and gravelly now, an octave lower than usual and he swallows audibly. It’s so hot. 

You obey him and lie with your back against the bed. Prompto resumes his ministrations. He hovers over you and kisses you senseless, moving to nipping along your jaw and licking long stripes up and down your neck. He kisses gently down your sternum, between your breasts, and returns to your stomach, one hand petting gently across rippled, stretchmarked skin as he kisses everywhere he sees fit. 

“Did it hurt?” asks Prompto in between wet pecks of his lips. 

You roll your eyes. You know exactly where this is going, but you indulge your boyfriend anyway. “Did what hurt, Prom?” 

“When you fell from the vending machine? ‘Cause you’re a snack,” he mumbles, squishing his face directly into your plump midsection. 

You giggle and run your fingers through his soft blond hair. “I’m like, four bags of chips, at least,” you laugh. 

“Actually,” says Prompto, sitting up on his haunches and scooting backward so he can place his hands on your chubby thighs. “Scratch that. You’re more than a snack—you're a whole all-you-can-eat buffet. And baby, I’ve never eaten before in my _life_ ,” Prompto purrs with a wink. 

You laugh out loud as Prompto runs his warm hands over the vast expanse of your legs. He bites his lip as goosebumps appear on the surface of your skin, and your laugh fades to carefully-measure breaths. You chance a look at his body—lean, still flushed pink, white-silver faded stretch marks on his slender hips. The red briefs look amazing against his pale, freckled skin—and the heavy bulge that’s twitching between his supple thighs isn’t lost on you. Your throat suddenly goes dry. 

“Hey,” you croak. 

Prompto pauses his petting. “Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry...if this is too much for you.” 

“Huh?” Prompto follows your eyesight down and he flushes a deeper crimson. “Oh, don’t...it’s fine. I’ll just take a cold shower like I always do and get off later.” He shrugs adorably. “This is about you right now. Are you feeling better?” 

“A lot, yeah.” How can you tell Prompto that your skin is on fire from his gentle touches? “Are you sure? I feel bad, Prom, I can like...help? We don’t have to _do it_ , yknow, I mean...” 

Prompto laughs breathily and shakes his head. “It’s okay, I don’t want you to feel pressured, I mean...” He gestures to the length of your body on his bed. “This is like, enough spank bank material for the next year.” 

You bite your lip and nod, almost a little disappointed. Maybe next time. “Okay, if you’re sure.” 

“I’m having fun, baby, don’t worry,” Prompto says as he lifts your right leg and sets your foot against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to your ankle. “Now where was I, goddess?” 


End file.
